


Couldn't Dream of It, Dearest

by YouLookGoodInLeather



Series: 30 Days of Dark Fandom Challenge (ACOTAR) [7]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, First Dates, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Veterans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 03:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12268182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouLookGoodInLeather/pseuds/YouLookGoodInLeather
Summary: “Let me get this straight; I vomited on you, and now you want to go out on a date with me?”_____________________When the man of his dreams shows up at his door, Cassian finds he is willing to follow him anywhere, over and over and over again.





	Couldn't Dream of It, Dearest

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhat under-tagged to avoid spoilers just as a heads up, though I've included the primary trigger warning.

Cassian opens the door to find the love of his life standing there. Or, at least, a man who _should_ be the love of his life from first, wordless impressions. He’s never seen him before in his life and that is the biggest tragedy of his entire existence, for the man before him is very, _very_ worth seeing. All scathing cheekbones and pretty, brooding eyes, he looks exactly like some model-turned-actor that would always be typecast as ‘the bad boy’ and Cassin is one hundred percent into it.

“Well hello there,” he says, grinning without an ounce of subtlety. The stranger looks back at him with a cautious hesitancy that he takes to be shyness, which in all honesty only makes the bad boy looks even hotter. He’s always been a sucker for undercover sweethearts. “To what do I owe the pleasure, mysterious stranger?”

The half smile on said stranger’s lips vanishes for a second, before it is forced back wider. The pretending-to-be-bad-and-brooding-to-conceal-acute-awkwardness theory is confirmed as he scratches the back of his neck and looks anywhere but at Cassian, his deep bronze skin flushing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“Um. You probably don’t remember me but-”

“You don’t look like the kind of person I’d forget.” Normally Cassian doesn’t hit on everyone _quite_ so hard upon meeting them, but when his actual dream guy shows up at his door, he’s willing to be obvious. He’s willing to do a _lot_ of things right now.

Geez, when was the last time he got laid? He feels hornier than that one time he had to go on a six month deep cover solo mission in the deserted swathes of Siberia. By the end of it, snow was starting to look real sexy.

“You were pretty drunk,” Gorgeous Stranger says with a sheepish smirk that looks so fond and so smitten that Cassian is mentally condemning drunk him for seducing someone and having the audacity not to remember their name. Since he learned better after one incident with his best friend’s cousin, he’s had a strict ‘no sleeping with people for the first time whilst drunk’ policy. What a crappy way to embark on his romance with the love of his life.

“We met last week at Rita’s. A lot of shots were involved. I helped carry you home. You kind of vomited on me,” Cassian is dedicating the rest of his life’s work to inventing time travel so he can rectify the single worst mistake of his life, “and then asked me out for coffee sometime. I was hoping I could cash in on that free caffeine you promised.”

Stopping for a moment, Cassian looks at this man, and really _looks_ at him. He’s what, in his mid to late thirties, so a fair few years older than he is, and whilst he’s dressed down in minimalistic clothing, he’s dressed well. There is no way on earth that this man cannot afford his own supply of plentiful stimulants, which can mean only one thing: he’s into him.

“Let me get this straight; I vomited on you, and now you want to go out on a date with me?”

“I’ve been known for my strange tastes,” Gorgeous Stranger agrees in deadpan, though a mischievous smirk that feels so damn intimate, like this is a joke they’ve shared for decades, threatens to betray him, twitching at the corner of his lips. Damn. This man knows exactly which buttons to push, to the point where Cassian is left feverishly debating if he would be okay with vomit in the bedroom for this man.

“Listen, I’m not really into _that_ , but you’re really cute so-”

“So are you. Which is why I’m letting the vomit thing slide.”

“Oh. Oh good. Great. Awesome, even.” Cassian is bumbling. Cassian does not do bumbling. Alarm claxons are ringing in his head but he knows perfectly well he’s going to ignore them. “Listen though, I don’t know where my wallet is right now so-”

“It’s okay, I’ll pay.”

Thanking the universe, his mother, whatever deity might be out there, and Beyonce for this truly heaven-sent angel gifted upon his unworthy ass, Cassian is putty in Gorgeous Stranger’s hands. “I’m Azriel, by the way. Not that you forgot.”

“I fear it was collateral when I blocked my deep shame of last week from my memory.”

“The only sensible thing to do.”

Elated and horny and also a tadge infatuated, Cassian grabs his coat and follows after Az with eyes for nothing and no one else. There is something just so pleasing about looking at him, about being with him, from the graceful way he walks to how reserved he is without being introverted. Deadliest of all, he has this _smile_ , this totally unfair smile that is all lips and unspoken secrets shared solely by them, as if the universe is theirs for the taking and only they know they hold the key, and time and time again it leaves Cassian convinced he has just met for the first time ever (whilst sober) the love of his life.

 

***

 

“Oh sweet, I love these things.” Cassian gestures over to Az to join him as he gravitates on automatic to one of the carnival stalls. What can he say? He’s not one to resist an opportunity to show off. “Hey Az, which one do you want? I’ll win it for you.”

Az doesn’t even glance up at the variety of stuffed animals populating the back of the stand, instead eying the air rifle Cass has scooped up. “I’m not much of a gun fan.”

“It’s fine, they’re just air rifles,” he assures him, dismantling it to show him that there’s no bullets or anything to be afraid of. He seals it with an award-winning smile, going full charm on his beautiful date. “Promise I won’t miss.”

Sceptical judging by the way he looks not the slightest bit reassured, Az relents and points to what has got to be the ugliest stuffed unicorn anyone has ever had the audacity to bring into this world. “In case you and your dumb man-bun don’t make me look gay enough.”

“ _Hey_ , you leave the man-bun alone. It’s a look.”

Still scowling, but now smiling too, Az gives him a playful tug on his few, long flowing locks that have escaped from the confines of their ties. “I suppose it’s the kind of look that could grow on me.”

“Oh, so we’ll be having chances to grow on each other, shall we?” That sounded a lot less creepy in Cassian’s head. Still, it earns a chuckle from his companion, and right now that is literally all that matters.

Handing over the fare for three goes, Cassian loads up the rifle with a deftness that speaks volumes of his years in the military. It requires no thought to aim and execute all fifteen of the targets succinctly, everything a mere matter of muscle memory by now. He doesn’t strike the bullseye on most of them, but it’s obvious from the dumbfounded expression of the owner that people aren’t _supposed_ to be able to hit any of them, let alone all of them.

“Are you trying to impress me?” Azriel drawls, though he’s wearing an impish smirk that only gets more smug as he’s handed one of the larger ugly ass unicorns.

“Absolutely.”

“Good. You’re cute when you’re cocky.” This man who so far has seemed nothing but proper and ever so slightly distant is now giving him definite bedroom eyes. Oh heavens, such bedroom eyes.

Cassian’s stomach is already in his feet when Az turns back to the owner. “I’d like to have a go, please.” He hands over his share, and loads up his rounds much more slowly than Cassian did, which might have something to do with the way he won’t stop looking at him like he’s undressing him with his eyes. Pink and flushed and jittery all over, Cass doesn’t care about the guns or the carnival anymore. He’d just like less air and clothes to between them like, right now.

Facing the targets, Azriel squares his shoulders, exhales, and shoots.

Fifteen dead on bullseyes later, Cassian is carrying a unicorn as huge - but nowhere near as pretty - as he is and feeling both a little humiliated and very, very turned on.

 

***

 

“Tell me about yourself,” Cassian says over dinner, which, after debating several extremely posh restaurants, they both agreed should be McDonalds and nothing could possibly be finer. It smells like grease and disinfectant but tucked away in the back corner of the second floor, the setting sun refracting hues of gold and amber behind the city skyline, it manages to be both relaxed and romantic. No one harasses them about wines for half an hour, no judgy  conservative straight couples glare at them, and there is something truly godly about how delicious such tiny fries can taste. That it was Azriel’s suggestion is just another massive addition of points in favor of the ‘Actual Soulmate’ theory.

“What do you want to know?” Az asks without looking up from where Cassian is not so subtly stealing the last of his chicken.

“Anything. Everything.”

“Like my ingenious plans for avenging this grave misdeed you are doing me right now?” Because he thought he’d been allowed through the enigmatic language of eye-contact, Cassian is quick to offer him the last piece of chicken with his best apologetic puppy eyes.

“A wise decision,” Azriel says coolly, taking the offering and dipping it in the ketchup. He then holds it out for Cassian to eat. From his fingers.

Since when did McDonalds get so hot?

“You understand what this means right?” Cassian says with utter sincerity. “To offer me food is to know that I _will_ love you forever.” The offering remains in place.

“You have very high standards.”

“Most people don’t appreciate my culinary kleptomania.”

“You think I was being sarcastic?”

They have a very odd stare off that leaves Cassian confused as to whether he is being challenged to a duel or being proposed to because it feels like both. Tentatively, he leans over and bites the metaphorical glove thrown at him and the literal chicken offered to him. He makes the foolish mistake of trying to keep staring and swallows it in one.

Choking to death would still be worth it, he decides, as Azriel, stoic and unphasable for the past few hours, breaks down into hysterical giggling. “That is the most you thing ever.” It’s tricky to get a witty reply in when you’re possibly on the brink of death.

Unfortunately for his avenging assassin, he lives, and after composing himself a little grunts out, “If I erase this humiliating incident from my mind, am I allowed to still remember your name this time?” Azriel, with too much intensity in his gaze for this to be unfolding in a Maccy D’s, chews on his lower lip for a moment before answering,

“I’m rather hoping you will always remember my name.”

Cassian, who is so used to loud and sexual and brash, rather than understated and genuine and so damn romantic, doesn’t know what to do, so his body answers for him.

Kissing Az is like… Cassian doesn’t know how to describe it without sounding like the kind of cheesy morons on soap operas he rolls his eyes at. It feels so safe and familiar, like the encapsulation of the feeling you get when you step into your warm home when it’s cold and shitty outside, and there’s the smell of something _amazing_ baking in the oven. It’s a visceral, subconscious reaction that he doesn’t think but feels, so overwhelming he almost feels like crying.

Refusing to choke up - Az doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to deal well with public breakdowns - he draws back before things can get too intense. “Given how I’m now bound to love you for all eternity, I think remembering you and your name is one of the basic requirements. Besides, like I said: You’re way too cute to forget.”

The strangest part is, Cassian doesn’t even think twice about saying what is essentially ‘I love you’ so soon after meeting him. He hasn’t thought twice about anything since meeting him. For once, he hasn’t needed to.

 

***

 

Stumbling into Azriel’s apartment, neither of them can get their clothes off fast enough. “Nice place,” Cass says, as if he has actually bothered to glance anywhere but at the bare torso before him.

“Thanks.” Az snorts, just as skilled at dismantling belt buckles as he is at giving Cassian hickies in the back of public transport. “I call it borderline alcoholism chic.”

Hopping out of his trousers, Cassian sacrifices a few seconds of devouring Az with his eyes to see what the hell he’s talking about. Just to drive the point home, he stumbles over a rogue wine bottle as he does so. “Wow.” Wow doesn’t really cover the fact that every window shelf and counter is populated by empty booze bottles. “That is one hell of a collection. Do you-”

“Not saying I don’t drink too much, but also they don’t recycle glass here. I’ve been trained to horde it and drive it over to the dump but…” He trails off mid-sweeping bottles off of the coffee table into his arms. “Can’t drive. So that throws a bit of a wrench in the works.”

Though that seems a little bit weird and a little bit contradictory, Cass can’t stand seeing him look so put out, especially when he has no idea what the source of the problem is. However, he is nothing if not an expert in distracting people from bad shit with even worse jokes. “Tree fucker, huh?” Judging by the way Azriel looks like he’s about to be sick, it was not the right thing to say.

“Uh, not really, but,” He keeps putting the bottles back down on the table, before realising what he’s done, scooping them back up, and then repeating it bottle by bottle, “man I used to live with always insisted on it. I’d get a right bollocking if I forgot, so it’s been a hard habit to break.” Sensing that the atmosphere has suddenly gone from hot steamy sexy times to a tension so ominous even Cassian is unsure he can break it, Az plasters on a smile and grabs the bottles. “Don’t worry, give me five and I can clear up.”

There are so many bottles that unless he has a spare room somewhere dedicated to storing rejected recycling, that plan isn’t going to go to well. “Oh no you’re not,” Cass says with a smile so easy you’d never know it was practiced, scooting forward to catch Az’s wrist and pulling him over, draping his arms around his shoulders. “I’m not getting dumped in favour of a damn bottle. Bedroom, now.”

Though there’s a clunky pause as Az struggles to shirk off the claustrophobia of the past few minutes and make the transition back to where they both want to be, he matches Cass’s careful smile expertly. “But those sexy glass curves,” Az purrs, slinking into the embrace and pushing up onto his tiptoes so he can lick over those hickies he so diligently cultivated and make them even darker.

“First vomit, now bottles. You really are a freak.”

Snickering, they navigate their way through the bottle-maze so Az can drag him into his bedroom. Of course there’s more bottles to step over to reach the actual bed, but once they hit the sheets Cassian’s competition is vanquished. “Oh, and Az,” he says, glancing up from where he’s slipping the other’s trousers off. “I’ll drive you to the dump sometime. If you promise not to leave me there, that is. Plain old trash can will do me just fine.”

Though he was only teasing, he finds Az is watching him with somber eyes more befitting of a funeral than their first time getting down and dirty. Reaching over, he cups Cass’s cheek in the warm palm of his hand and says quietly, “You know, I never would have guessed you think like that.”

 

***

 

“I know this is a weird request.”

“Hey, I’ve got coffee and cute company. I’m happy.”

“I just… wanted to get your opinion on it.”

Perhaps it is a little strange that after knowing each other for so short a time, Azriel wants _Cassian’s_ opinion on a house he’s thinking of buying, but hey, Cassian has already decided he’ll follow this man anywhere, though he’d never confess aloud to it. “What… do you think about the street?” Az asks, one hand intertwined with Cassian’s, the other nursing a cup of coffee to go.

“It is very street like.”

“Any immediate impressions? Thoughts? Feelings?”

Not having realised his opinion was _actually_ wanted - to be honest he just thought that the idea of fucking on a random house’s kitchen table would be fun, not that he would _ever_ do that of course, no sir - he looks around and tries to provide whatever is wanted of him. “It seems cute. I mean with this many kids on their bikes outside it’s probably safe and stuff. Oh, plus there’s a dog. Oh shit, two dogs. Yeah okay I think you should definitely live here.”

Shaking his head in amused despair, Az ignores his sagely opinions and leads him through a gate up to the porch of the house at the end of the lane. It is, to be fair, super cute. Were Cassian ever to do the whole settling down and starting a family thing, he would definitely choose to do it in a house like this.

With the ivy-infested porch, the blue wooden slats and white window-frames, it screams of cottage without looking too excruciatingly fairytale-esque. The white picket fence and good-for-dogs sized yard is about at white middle class nuclear family with 2.3 kids as you can get, and as the polar opposite of that stereotype, Cass loves the contradiction of expectations that would come with living here. Especially if… well, especially if it was with someone like Azriel.

Unlocking the front door with the keys the estate agent lent him rather generously, Az stops, deliberates for a moment, and then opens the door wider to let him through. For what is already a pretty quirky date, his face is unreadable. Almost as if he’s trying to conceal some ulterior motive from his companion.

Figuring he’ll find out just what said motive is later, Cassian rolls with it. Trundling in, he gets proper nosy with the place and goes exploring in the kitchen first off because, given how the only thing he is better at than combat is cooking, Cassian has his priorities in order. And, in keeping this this presenting itself as the dream house, it is lavish as fuck.

Az wanders in several minutes later to find him still internally squealing over the appliances they’ve got set up here, and yes, these hobs are to die for. Since when did he become a 1950s housewife? He’s practically getting wet over the refrigerator’s storage system too, but really, who wouldn’t when it has dual cooling systems, four separate sealable containers for freezing different groups of items, and also the ice tray cubes are shaped like snowflakes.

“If you don’t buy this place, I’m buying it for you,” he informs Az as he shamelessly flicks through one of the umpteen cookbooks filed away in the bookshelf.

“You like it then?”

“If I could hand pick every aspect of my idea of a dream house and smoosh it together, this would be it. But,” he glances through the doorway to the staircase out in the hall, “isn’t it kinda big for just you?” Blushing at the intrusive question, he averts his eyes back to a recipe for - oh god it’s even his favourite type of cooking - pancetta. “Sorry, housemates exist, obviously. Garbage brain syndrome.”

Drawing circles on the granite counters with his nail, Az doesn’t seem offended. “Actually, I was thinking of it for…” He cuts himself off and squints out of the glass doors leading out to the garden. “Well. If I ever decided to live with someone… maybe get married, this would be where I’d want to do that. To live with them.” Still refusing to meet Cassian’s curious gaze, he frowns. “Just thought I might get it in case. But I wanted a second opinion first.”

Even Cassian, who considers himself pretty thick, can read into the subtext there. “How does it feel to you?” Az asks. “Do you…”

“I think you should get it,” Cass finds himself saying, which is insanity, utter, absolute insanity, given how they barely know each other and he feels like he’s being subtly asked to maybe move in with this man in the future. “It’s perfect.”

The perfect surreal end to the surrealist date in the history of dates comes as they’re locking up behind them. Over on the lawn of the house next door, a middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair is standing stock still, clutching a broom to her chest, staring at them. Because he’s him, Cassian’s solution is to give her the biggest, friendliest wave possible and hopefully embarrass her into scurrying off.

She does not. She stays right where she is, watching.

Fumbling with the keys, Az is muttering incoherently to himself. Cass can’t make out most of it, but he does catch a snippet. “We need to get out of here.” Not the most reassuring thing he’s heard in his life.

“You alright?” He asks, touching two fingers lightly to the back of Az’s hand, startling him as he drops the keys.

It’s just a set of keys, not precious china, but Az whimpers when they fall from his grasp. With mounting desperation he struggles to lock the door, and only now does Cassian realise why he’s having so much difficult as he notices his hands shaking. “Hey, come here. Let me,” he says gently, easing the keys from the other and calmly locking the door. Glancing over his shoulder, he spots the woman has now retreated to her porch, but remains watching them.

Seizing Az’s hand, Cassian marches them back down the pathway. The woman returns his earlier wave. “Didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Bye Pauline,” Az shouts back, his voice breaking mid yell. Honestly, he looks like he might be about to burst into tears. And Cassian, no matter how weird shit gets, could never bring himself to leave someone like that looking so miserable.

“Come on,” he murmurs, pulling Azriel into him and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Let’s go back to my place.”

And just like that, Az starts sobbing.

 

***

 

“How,” Cass hiccups, “How am I so drunk? I didn’t even- I had like one- like one glass! One glass! Wait? What did I drink again?”

“Lightweight,” Az teases with a smirk that isn’t quite as hopelessly drunk as Cass feels, but it’s certainly a little boozy.

“Weightlight? Have you _seen_ me? All this,” it is more difficult than it should be to wildly gesture to yourself when wankered, “is no lightweight. This is six foot eight of pure solid heavy weight muscle.”

“Six foot nine. You freakishly managed to grow an extra inch when you were thirty, remember? You’re a real medical marvel.”

“What?”

“Nevermind.”

Feeling too ill to remember what happened ten minutes ago let alone what blasted height he’s supposed to be, Cassian resolves to simply let Azriel plop him down on his own bed and flops back. Making grabby hands, he successfully coaxes the other down with him, and with a bit of drunken shuffling they’re curled up side by side and feeling awfully sorry for themselves and the hangovers they’re going to get in the morning.

“You really aren’t supposed to drink,” Azriel mumbles, running a hand through what once was Cassian’s signature man-bun, and is now just his regular hair with a hair-tie caught in there somewhere.

“Screw you man. I do what I want.”

“Aww, my not so little rebel.”

Stroking the tendrils drifting over Cass’s eyes, Az’s fingers come to rest upon his forehead. His thumb catches on a sore-spot on his forehead, which feels thick and raw, though he’s pretty certain the alcohol is exaggerating it. Whatever it is, Az won’t stop looking at it, running his thumb up and down it until he must have its geography memorised inside and out.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, noticing Cass’s wince when he digs in a bit too hard.

“Nah. Don’t even remember how I got it.” Watching himself being studied so closely, he grins wickedly. “You like it? Into the rugged look?” It works, winning an alcohol-fueled laughing fit from Az. “Okay, I can do the scar face look. Start my own fight club or some shit.”

“You would make a _really_ sexy Brad Pitt.”

Maybe it’s cliche that Fight Club is his favourite movie just for the many shirtless men, graphic violence, but given how it’s excellent fodder for fights against people who think he’s odd for liking cooking and sewing, he owns it proudly. “Only if you’d be my Edward Norton.”

“Be a bit narcissistic if you go on dates with yourself, don’t you think?”

“Do you know how sexy it is that you even know the actor’s names?”

“Your hard on kind of gives it away.”

Cackling like a bunch of mad women, the pair devolve into a sissy fit that is half tickle battle half slappy fight. “Okay but we both know your _actual_ favourite film is Finding Nemo, and I’d be the Nemo to your Dory, so don’t think being Pitt makes you the cool guy.”

“How dare you! I- Wait.” Cassian halts mid-hilarity, his brow furrowing. “How do you know that Finding Nemo is my favourite film of all time when forced to tell only the truth?”

Screwing his eyes shut, Az appears to rack his brains for a minute before saying, “I guess you told me at Lucien’s?”

“No. No, I don’t tell people shit when I’m drunk.”

“You were _really_ drunk.” He sits up seconds after Cass does, the boozy smile abandoned.

“I have literally been trained not to betray information whilst under the effects of intoxicants.”

Laughing a little too shrewdly, Az shakes his hands. “Cass, I really don’t think Rhys trains you to keep bloody _Finding Nemo_ a secret.”

Cass is off of the bed in a second. He sweeps a hand round the back of his bedside table, but his baseball bat isn’t there. “What the fuck did you do with it?” He hisses at the man on his bed.

“Cass, Cass, calm down. Calm-”

“Who the fuck _are_ you?” Cass demands, backing out and grabbing whatever he can find, which is only an alarm clock but it’s better than nothing. “And how the fuck do you know about Rhysand?”

Burying his head in his hands and swearing, Az groans. “ _Why_ did you have to steal my beer. And why did I have to join in?”

“How do you _really_ know me?” Cassian yells, kicking the bed frame just to drive home the point that he is a head taller than the other man and twice as thick. “And who sent you?”

“Cass, you’re not in the army any more, no one is being _sent_ for you.”

Sure, the internet exists, but this man knows far, far too much. “Get the fuck out of my house,” he hisses, physically shaking he’s so angry. There’s this terrible suffocating sensation crushing his chest and his vision is starting to go funny in a way that he doesn’t think is the booze.

“Cass-”  
“Get the fuck out!”

Going rigid as an alarm clock is hurled at the side of his head, Azriel - if that even is his name - can only stare at the wall behind him. “Cass, I-”

“Mr Azriel,” a voice crackles over the intercom. Cass doesn’t recognise that one either. “Visiting hours are nearly over.”

“Get out,” Cass repeats, shuddering. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and he can hear things that can’t possibly be there.

Outside, something explodes. Then another something. Over and over.

As Cass collapses back against the wall, Az grabs something off of the nightstand and a high buzzing noise starts whining loudly in his ears. Cass can’t breathe. He can’t understand what’s happening. Why can’t he understand what’s happening?

 

***

 

Cassian opens the door to find the love of his life standing there. Or, at least, a man who _should_ be the love of his life from first, wordless impressions.

“Hey Cassian,” the man says softly, like someone out of another world, his face too gaunt, his eyes so encased in shadows they ought to be paying rent. When later he’s asked out for coffee he apparently owes this man - Azriel - it feels bizarrely morbid, even though they apparently just met at a party. Still, if Cassian really _did_ vomit on him then fair enough if he’s a little uncomfortable around him, even if he was the one to ask him out proper.

 

***

 

Whilst Cassian is grabbing his coat and things to deal with the winter weather, Az leans against the reception desk and tries not to depress himself whilst he watches. “How did things go last night after I left?” He asks a heavy-set nurse named Alis who, although she looks like she would love to be anywhere but here twenty-four-seven, cares more than anyone else in this entire place.

Exhaling, she grimaces. “It wasn’t pretty. It was one of the worst episodes I’ve seen whilst here, but you don’t need to worry too much. Just be gentle with him this time. And I _know_ it was an accident, but please keep him away from alcohol. It’s a total nightmare given how many meds he’s on.”

“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have left the news on.”

Shaking her head, all too familiar with how _that_ mistake plays out, Alis gives him her version of a sympathetic smile, a minute movement of the mouth. “I don’t think anyone can accuse you of negligence.”

Cassian’s been distracted by the residence’s cats - which, Azriel knows well he will be informing that whilst they are very cute, they are not dogs, but they _are_ very cute and he supposes he could stroke them anyway - so, though he knows it’s the equivalent of stabbing himself repeatedly in the stomach, Az has to ask, “How did the last scan go?”

“No deterioration,” Alis says briskly. “Which is excellent. And no doubt thanks to you for keeping him so mentally active.”

Cassian has caved as he always does and is sat on the floor giving the pair of tabbies the full scratch-and-stroke experience. “Any signs of improvement? Because I’ve noticed, I think he’s starting to recognise me in the mornings, maybe. He doesn’t seem so surprised.”

“Azriel. You know that isn’t how this works.” Az has always felt he’s an expert in concealing his emotions - he was a modern day spy for a reason, after all - but clearly he’s lost his touch, because the immoveable Alis adds, “You’ve done everything you can to help. The doctors did say that they’re certain he’s stable now. You don’t… He’ll honestly be okay if you don’t visit so often.”

“Cass!” Az yells over to where his husband is buried in kitten fur. “You ready?”

 

***

 

“The exhibitions next Friday. Feyre was hoping you’d come for this one. She’s finally finished the ones from their trip to Iceland. Said it only seemed right for you to be there too.”

“What time is it?” Azriel asks, stirring his coffee, which is stone cold.

“Opening’s at three.”

“Rhys.” He sighs, rubbing his temples to try and massage the omnipresent headache he feels like he’s had for months. “You know I can’t come.”

“Yes, you can. Look, you can see him in the morning and join us for the afternoon. You don’t have to spend the whole day with-”

“Rhys, just leave it.”

The only reason Az is here is because it’s the day Cass has to get dragged over to the neurology unit one a month, and the one thing he promised Rhysand back when this all started as that on this one day a month, they’d have coffee. He did not, however, ever promise to talk about his feelings, and he doesn’t intend to start now.

Signalling for another refill, Rhys runs a hand through his hair and wears the same expression he always wears when he’s doing this stupid facade of charity work. That’s not fair, but Az is feeling bitter. Alis’s good intentions weren’t not appreciated.

“Az, I know you hate talking about stuff. I know that you hate me trying to make you talk about stuff. But it’s been two years, and you’ve never talked about something that dictates every day of your life. You don’t-” Rhys, always so flawless and smooth, is losing his shit in a coffeeshop. “You don’t have to talk to me about it, but please, let me find someone for you that you can talk to. Someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

Maybe everything Rhys is saying is right, but Azriel still has last week’s ‘episode’ burned into his brain and he can’t hear this right now. He doesn’t know if he can hear this ever. “I know exactly what _I’m_ doing, Rhysand. I apologise that I’m still not ‘over’ the man I was married to for ten years, who you haven’t bothered to see for a month despite being his best friend by the way, but I’m just doing what I think is right. Because if there is any chance that I can help him start to remember, then I’m going to be there for him every day until I’m the one locked up in a mental ward.”

The man who once trained Azriel to be a lethal murderer when he was fresh out of adolescence looks so old as he looks back at him, the grey that threads his hair looking whiter than ever as he stares back at the only best friend he has left that remembers the last fifteen years of his life. Az is too shocked at first by how for the first time, he realises they are both middle-aged men now, to realise that he’s crying.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters, appropriating his paper napkin as an emergency tissue and trying not to let anyone see, especially Rhys. The problem is, Rhys grabs his other hand and squeezes it tightly.

“I know Az. I know. And I know that- I know that you feel it’s your fault, but none of us saw it coming. And even though… even though now we may never know why he did it, at least he’s still here. But he wouldn’t have wanted you to stop living just because-”

“How do any of us know what he would have wanted?” Az asks thickly. “When none of us even noticed something was wrong?”

 

***

 

“Libraries are a weird first date, but I’m kind of into it,” Cassian says, flicking through one of the reference cooking magazines without paying attention. “You look crazy hot in glasses. Very sexy librarian.”

“They’re new,” Az says, pushing the black frames further up his nose. “I was wondering what you’d think of them.”

Grinning, Cass leans over to peer over the book pile he’s assembled. “What you reading?”

“Nothing interesting, I promise. But you mentioned you wanted to grab some new books so I thought we could go together.”

“Hmm, very thoughtful,” Cass hums, before oh so shockingly swiping one of the book from his pile to inspect the title.

“Is this… in English?”

“Apparently. Never having attended proper schooling is making this hell. As if medical journals aren’t convoluted enough.”

“Oooh, sexy doctor?”

“Just doing some research.”

Always too bloody curious for his own damn good, Cass tries to decipher the jargon-filled title. Even though he shouldn’t, even though it’s a dangerous subject to venture into, Az can’t help but take pity on his puzzled expression. Rhys might be showing his age at last, but Cass, whilst two years older than Rhys and having turned silver-haired half a decade ago, somehow still looks like the twenty-year old he thinks he is. Back when they still thought war was a game they could play and win.

“It’s on the recovery potential of cranial gunshots. So, whether the brain tissue might repair, or at least form new connections.”

“Morbid,” Cass says with a wicked smile. “I love it. How come you’re in deep with this CSI Miami stuff?” If there is one thing Az doesn’t miss, it’s the unbelievable volume of mind-numbing TV Cass made him watch.

Which is a total lie. He misses that part most of all come when he gets home at six thirty from the residence, returning to a dark apartment where there is no apron-adorned Cassian singing along to the Scrubs’ theme-tune whilst cooking something that confirms his new life-calling is the best choice. No one who will drag him down to chill out and just blip out for an hour before he gets onto his work emails and spirals down into that tempting pit of stress, no one to teach him the words to the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air rap, and no one to occasionally sneak-attack him by being adorned by an apron and nothing else when he gets home.  

“Just trying to learn some stuff for a friend,” Az says without looking at him, because he’s not sure he can hold his shit together if he does.

“Urgh, you’re too cute. Stop it.” Reaching over, Cass links their fingers together and gazes at him with such warmth and affection that it’s almost as if he remembers the day they met, just like he once did all those fifteen years ago. He has never met someone so proficient at remembering shit when he was drunk than Cassian.

“Hey, Az,” he says, jolting Az out of staring at him. “I hope it helps. Your friend, I mean.” Az squeezes his fingers back.

“Yeah. Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> The Prompt Was: Cazriel, Abandoned Locations, Nightmares, Negative Emotion (B: Sadness, missing someone, helplessness) - AS DISTRESSING AS POSSIBLE.
> 
> May come back an edit this after the challenge is done b/c I didn't go in as deep as I wanted to but one day is kinda not that long so apologies for it being shorter than the final product may be.


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